Haircut
by LiveLaughLove728
Summary: Harry has always been Molly Weasley's son, whether he knows it or not. Post-DH.


**Hey guys!**

 **So, I originally intended for this to be shorter, but it kind of took off as I was writing it and turned out slightly different, but I think I like it. Hopefully you do too. :)**

* * *

The sun was bright in the back yard of the Burrow, hot and comforting against Harry's back as he sat in the grass beside Ron and Hermione, staring contemplatively out at the makeshift Quiddich pitch the Weasely children had made good use of over the years, but which had stood abandoned for, Harry absently figured, the better part of a year now.

It had been just over two days since the battle and the Weasley family, sans, for now, Bill and Fleur and including Harry and Hermione, had returned from Hogwarts a few hours earlier. They had all been at the school since the fighting had ended, working first to tend to the wounded and gather the fallen, and then to help with the work to repair some of the most-pressing damage, though there was an incredibly large amount still left to do. Official rebuilding efforts were set to begin in a matter of days, but only after the fallen had been buried and their funerals all attended. Fred's was scheduled to take place the following day; Lupin and Tonk's the day after that.

The atmosphere since arriving back at the Burrow had been understandably somber. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen the place so quiet, and it was rather depressing, even under the circumstances. Mrs. Weasley especially was beside herself with the loss of her son, and George, distraught as he was and now without work to take his mind off his twin, hadn't, as far as Harry knew, left his bedroom since coming back.

Harry had retreated outside to give them all some room as a family. He felt like an outsider, an intruder on their grief. Part of him wanted to leave, but he had no where else to go as Grimmauld Place had not yet been deemed safe, and he knew Mrs. Weasley would be upset if he did-she hadn't even bothered to double check that he'd wanted to come back with them, but had rounded him up along with the rest of her children and informed them it was time to go. Harry couldn't decide how he felt about that, as part of him felt incredibly guilty and responsible for the deaths of so many, including Fred, despite the fact that they'd all chosen to fight with him of their own accord, knowing full well the risk they were taking in doing so.

There was also the fact that the wards around the Burrow were useful in keeping away the press, which had been relentlessly seeking Harry out since the battle. This was disgruntling as well, as Harry felt there were so many others who deserved recognition for their efforts during the war, yet he was the only one being thoroughly harassed. He'd triumphed over Voldemort, yes, but it was because of Ron and Hermione he'd been able to do so, not to mention Neville, who had killed Nagini. Mrs. Weasley had killed Bellatrix. Professor Flitwick had taken out Dolohov. Countless others had won out against Voldemort's followers that night. Harry was no more a hero than anyone else.

He'd only made it a few minutes before Ron and Hermione joined him outside, wordlessly seating themselves down on the grass beside him, their hands clasped loosely together. Harry, despite his original plan to come out alone, was grateful for their presence. Aside from Ginny, he wanted to be with no one more.

During dinner the previous night, he and Ginny, who insisted, had taken a walk in the grounds, destroyed as they were. They hadn't had time to talk all that much, but they had, Harry was pretty sure, reaffirmed their relationship and, through some unspoken arrangement, they knew that one day, when the time was right, he would tell her, in detail, all that had happened throughout the year and she would do the same for him. For now though, she, too, was grieving the loss of Fred and the last he'd seen of her, she'd been otherwise occupied with trying to convince George to come out and eat something.

Hermione was the first to break the silence that had stretched on comfortably between the trio for several minutes now. "I honestly don't know the last time things were so peaceful."

"It does make for a nice change," said Ron.

"I just wish…" Harry began, but trailed off. He'd been about to say he wished it hadn't come at such a price, but then changed his mind when he realized that was likely to unnecessarily bring the topic of Fred to mind for Ron again and he didn't want to do that.

However, Ron was not as oblivious as he had once been and their friendship was such by now that they usually knew what the other was thinking anyway. "Me too, mate," he said quietly, his eyes clouding over slightly for a second, staring straight ahead, before he blinked and focused on them again, "But, well, they knew what they were getting into. I mean… Fred… and everybody, they d-died for a good cause. The best." Hermione squeezed his hand, looking sympathetic but not disagreeing.

"Although," she said ruefully, glancing at Harry, "Noble intentions or not, I'm not sure I could have ever forgiven you for sneaking off and dying like that if you hadn't come back."

"Yeah," Ron agreed seriously, having recovered some with the change in subject, "That was a git move if I ever saw one." His façade cracked though when he grinned a bit, and Harry knew he wasn't really upset. He _had_ come back, after all, regardless of the fact that he hadn't expected to. Harry looked away, grinning himself.

"I still can't believe it's over," Hermione said softly.

"Thank God it is," countered Harry, "After seven years, I can finally move on with my life."

"Yeah, and the rest of us can too, now that we don't have to worry about keeping you from dying every five minutes," Ron put in with a smirk before pausing and looking at Harry again, "It _is_ over, right? You're not having dodgy nightmares anymore?" He'd inquired similarly before, but Harry couldn't really blame him for wanting to hear so again.

Grinning widely, he shook his head. "He's gone. My head's never been so quiet," he confirmed, "It's brilliant."

"Thank goodness," said Hermione, "Imagine, we can go back to Hogwarts next year and finish out our educations without constantly risking our lives and breaking school rules!"

"Er, yeah. That'll be a change," Ron replied unenthusiastically. He and Harry exchanged a glance, but neither said anything more. Hermione had brought up the prospect of going back for their seventh year in almost every conversation they'd had since she asked Professor McGonagall if it would be possible the day before and the newly appointed headmistress had confirmed it as a possibility if they wanted to. He and Ron had discussed it briefly after dinner that night and neither was sure they wanted to take the offer. Ron, who had never been the most dedicated student, said he didn't fancy having to sit in a classroom again all day after the year they'd just had. Harry didn't know that he would necessarily mind the mundane classroom setting again, it might be rather nice after all the chaos, but he felt like he'd already closed the Hogwarts chapter of his life. The place held so many memories, which were slightly marred now by the carnage that had taken place, and he wasn't particularly anxious to open it up again. He realized doing so would likely dash any chance he may have stood of one day becoming an Auror, but he'd spent the majority of his life so far fighting dark wizards in some capacity. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to do something less life threatening, as boring as it would probably be.

He wasn't going to worry about it just yet.

Hermione cast them both a glance when they didn't share her enthusiasm for the subject, but said nothing, for which Harry was grateful. That was an argument he was happy to save for another day. "It will!" she said instead, before lapsing into an excited rant on the subject in true Hermione Granger fashion, "Just think, Harry. You'll actually have time to do your homework and study since you won't be constantly pressed for answers about Voldemort. No more late-night Occulemcy lessons or meetings with Dumbledore to take up all your free time. Not to mention how much more sleep you'll be able to get at night without those awful visions. And Ron, too, since you won't have to help him. You won't have to copy mine all the time, which will make for a very _nice_ change!" She seemed, in Harry's opinion, far too enthusiastic about this.

"Hermione," Ron cut in before she had the chance to say any more, "I love you, but I need you to stop talking."

Hermione looked taken aback and not exactly pleased at this, but before she and Ron got the opportunity to start arguing, Harry noticed Ginny stepping out the back door of the kitchen and starting toward them. Taking the opening for either a subject change or an excuse to leave, he grinned at her, "Hi."

"Ginny!" Ron called a bit too enthusiastically, very obviously relieved himself, "What can we do for you?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Mum's looking for you," she informed him lamely.

"Er," he said, looking nervous, as if afraid he was in trouble for something, and slightly surprised, "She is?"

"Yep. Harry too." Her eyes met his.

"Oh," Ron replied, glancing first at Harry as well, and then toward the lopsided house where his mother presumably waited, "Why?"

"Well, I suspect you'll find out once you go inside," Ginny supplied unhelpfully.

"But-"

Beside him, Hermione, with a roll of her eyes, stood up, pulling on his hand. "Come _on_ , Ron. Don't keep her waiting."

"Wha- _me_?" he demanded, following her to his feet. He gestured to Harry who, upon becoming the only one of them still on the ground, got up as well. "What about him? She wants him too."

"Harry'll be along in a minute," Ginny said innocently, though the look in her eyes as she gazed at her brother held something of a challenge. Wisely, rather than rise to it, Ron simply looked at Harry again, who shrugged and shook his head. He had no more idea than Ron did as to what Mrs. Weasley wanted them for. With a last, slightly suspicious look between the two of them, Ron allowed himself to be led away by Hermione, leaving Harry with Ginny, who made no immediate effort to move. He looked at her questioningly.

"What was that for?" he asked. Ginny's only answer was to lean in and kiss him, a good, proper kiss like they hadn't exchanged since their walk in the Hogwarts grounds the night before. By the time she pulled away, his brain had gone slightly cloudy.

"No reason, really," Ginny answered easily, "I just wanted to do that and Ron doesn't really appreciate us carrying on in front of him."

"Er, right," Harry replied, wanting nothing more in that moment than for her to do it again.

Ginny, though, just grabbed his hand. "Come on," she said, leading him toward the Burrow now as well, "Mum really does want you."

"I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Ginny gave him a sarcastic look, "Harry, when have you _ever_ been in trouble with my mum?" Harry said nothing. He supposed she had a point, Mrs. Weasley was not exactly a mild-mannered woman when angered, but despite all the questionable things he and Ron had done over the years, he had never once found himself in her verbal line of fire. "No. She wants to cut your hair. And Ron's. She's been complaining about it behind your backs since the war ended."

As if to emphasize her point, Ginny reached up and ran her hand through Harry's messy tresses. His hair hadn't been well groomed-if it could really ever be called that-since before his seventeenth birthday, almost a year ago, and except for the time Hermione had attempted to trim it for him shortly after Christmas, he hadn't had it cut since. There were surely spells that would have allowed him to maintain it himself, but neither he nor Hermione, and certainly not Ron, had bothered to learn them, focused as they'd been on the more important matters at hand. It hung nearly to his shoulders by this point and was, admittedly, kind of a nuisance, falling constantly in his eyes.

"Oh," he said, reaching the kitchen door the same time she did and opening it for her to walk through first, "Alright then." In all the years he'd known her, he'd never had his hair cut by Mrs. Weasley, though her children were not shy in their complaints of her work. Harry didn't really mind if she cut it short, trusting that she wouldn't make him look stupid like Aunt Petunia had done in the past. That was all he cared about, and anything was better than the way it was now.

Upon entering the kitchen, Ron's voice became audible. "Mum! Not so short. Please!" He was seated in one of the dining chairs, pulled to the middle of the kitchen, a towel draped over his shoulders, while Mrs. Weasley worked efficiently away at his hair, most of which was now trimmed neatly over his ears, with severing charms. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, though that likely meant she had settled down somewhere quiet to read after delivering Ron to his mother.

The Weasley matriarch, though her eyes still looked slightly bloodshot and puffy, seemed to be coping better with her grief in the work. "Enough, Ronald," she said, nearly finished, "It's not that short, do stop complaining. You can't honestly have liked it better before. I doubt you could have even _combed_ it in that state." She noticed Harry then, standing just inside the kitchen beside Ginny, and smiled, "Harry, dear! There you are. I'm just about finished with Ron here, and then it will be your turn."

"That was a very long minute," Ron pointed out to the two of them, his expression a mix of resigned acceptance and mild amusement. Ginny made a face at her brother while Harry pointedly ignored him.

"Er, okay, Mrs. Weasley." He moved toward the table then, intent on sitting down to wait. George was seated there, picking halfheartedly at steak and kidney pie, which Harry took to mean that Ginny had been successful in her earlier exploits. He didn't find that at all surprising considering the youngest Weasley's innate knack for stubbornness. George looked horrendous and Harry figured he hadn't slept since Fred's death. He hadn't seen enough of him to know one way or the other.

George looked at Harry as he took a seat while Ginny leaned casually against the counter beside him. "Been subjected to Mum's infamous scalping, have you?" he asked lightly, some of the usual joking light momentarily returning to his eyes. He nodded, looking serious. "Probably for the best, mate. You do share an unfortunate resemblance to a mop at the moment."

Harry gave a light laugh, "Thanks a lot."

"Anytime," George replied and, with a quick glance toward his mother to ensure she was not looking his way, lifted his wand and silently vanished the rest of his food, leaving behind an empty plate. This was slightly disconcerting, as George, though he'd not held a candle to Ron, had never been one to pass up a meal. He needed time though, and the fact that his sense of humor had made a brief reappearance was reassurance enough for Harry at the moment.

"There you are, dear," Mrs. Weasley said then, pocketing her wand and lifting the towel off Ron's shoulders, "All done."

Ron immediately lifted a hand to his much shorter hair to inspect the damage, looking relieved when it, apparently, wasn't as bad as he'd feared. "Thanks, Mum," he muttered.

"You're very welcome. Harry," she said, looking to him, "Your turn. The rest of you, go get your dress robes and bring them here please. We'll need to determine if they need alterations before t-tomorrow." Harry was sure they'd heard the slight waver in her voice at the reference to the day of Fred's funeral as clearly as he did, but none of them said anything. They did, however, comply easily with her wishes, despite obvious reluctance, and the three left the kitchen, disappearing upstairs a few seconds later.

"Now," Mrs. Weasley said as Harry sat down in the chair Ron had vacated, "Let's see what we can do about this." She draped the towel over his shoulders.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked.

"Yes, dear?"

"Could you, er, keep it long enough in the front so it covers my scar?"

She was quiet for a second. She'd set her hands lightly atop his shoulders when he'd spoke and she squeezed them gently now in a distinctly motherly fashion. "Of course, Harry."

"Thank you."

Mrs. Weasley set to work and strands of black, unruly hair began falling to the floor all around him. Ginny reappeared first with her dress robes in hand, followed closely by Ron, who informed his mother that his would most definitely need to be magically lengthened. He left again quickly, most likely to find Hermione, and Ginny sat down at the table where Harry had been before, watching him in amusement as Mrs. Weasley fussed over his hair.

George returned quite a few minutes after them, looking quite suddenly closed off and peaky again, most likely from the very real reminder of the fact that they would be burying his twin tomorrow. He flung his robes onto the table with Ginny's and Ron's and then fled the kitchen once more without a word. Behind Harry's head, Mrs. Weasley's wand stilled as she watched her son's hasty retreat. She sighed helplessly. Ginny met her mother's eyes overtop his head, a significant look in her eyes, and a second later she stood again and followed after him. Mrs. Weasley sighed again and Harry felt rather awkward.

"It will take time," she said softly, going back to his hair again, "I know it will. And yet, I've never felt more helpless. There's nothing worse as a mother than seeing your family hurting and not being able to fix it. A-a mother is not supposed to outlive her child."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he was, "For all of this."

Mrs. Weasley sniffed once and gathered herself. As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, she said sternly, "None of that, dear. There's nothing you could have done. It could have been any one of us and certainly would have been more of us, if it hadn't been for you. And whether I like to admit it or not, I can't deny that every one of us would have willingly died for the cause if it meant V-Voldemort met his downfall." She set a hand on his shoulder again. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"It's just…" Harry began as she finished with his hair, unsure what exactly he was saying or why he was saying it other than because Mrs. Weasley was just easy to talk to. "They were all there for me. Voldemort was after me. Everyone that fought was there that night because of me, and everyone that died did so because I was too slow to go to him myself. If I had just gone earlier…"

"You think if you'd gone and died right from the get-go, it would have been better on everyone." It wasn't a question.

Harry just shrugged. Ron, he knew, had told his parents briefly about the horcruxes after the fighting had ended, but the fact that Harry actually had died apparently hadn't made it into his explanation. Although frankly, Harry wasn't sure Ron had completely grasped that fact himself yet.

"Don't flatter yourself, dear," Mrs. Weasley continued kindly, pocketing her wand again and walking around where he sat, inspecting her work, "Voldemort may have been after you, but everyone who fought was there for him, _supporting_ you." It was the first time he'd heard her say Voldemort's name without hesitation. "And everyone who died did so willingly and at _his_ hand, not yours. There's a difference. He made life horrible for so many people for so long, and that battle was their chance to fight back for it. It had nothing to do with you, Harry."

Mrs. Weasley removed the towel from his shoulders and Harry stood up, running a hand through his newly trimmed hair. "Thank you," he told her.

The Weasley family matriarch hummed once in acknowledgement as she draped the towel over the chair back and vanished the strands of cut hair from the floor, but said nothing. Harry was about to turn and leave the kitchen when she looked up at him again, stepping closer.

"Listen to me," she said gently, her brown eyes, the ones Ginny had inherited, sad but earnest, and allowing no room for argument. "I lost one son in this war, it's true. And yes, we're broken and hurting because of it. But Harry, there was a point during that same war in which I thought I'd lost another son as well, and by no means was that idea any less of a blow than it had been the first time. If you had gone and allowed Voldemort to kill you earlier, not mentioning the fact that he would have still been around for the rest of us to handle without you and there would have been casualties anyway, maybe Fred would be alive, maybe he wouldn't, but imagine how broken up we'd still have all been if it had been you. Think how upset Ron would have been to lose a brother, and Hermione to have lost her best friend. And imagine how upset Ginny would have been-don't think I don't know you heard her cry out for you right along with the lot of them when he claimed you were dead." She paused, still looking at him hard with eyes full of emotion, "I would still have lost a child, Harry. And don't think for a second that I would rather have had it be you than Fred. You are just as much a part of this family as he is, and I don't want you to think otherwise ever again." She paused again, still looking at him. Harry, who felt oddly choked up all of a sudden, had no idea what to say. She continued, "We miss Fred, and you do too. But we're in this together, dear, and, hard as it may seem now, we will all heal with time. We may not ever be the same, but it will get better. For all of us. No one blames you, Harry. And I don't want you to blame yourself anymore either. Is that clear?"

Harry still couldn't speak through the flood of emotion he suddenly felt. Mrs. Weasley hadn't said anything all that much different from what Ron and Hermione had earlier, but for whatever reason, he believed it just a little more coming from her. She had called him her son, and for whatever reason, that left him oddly floored. She'd made reference to the fact before, of course, and had mothered him right along with the rest of her children for years, but this was the first time she'd ever actually said it straight to him like that. She considered him part of her family, loved him as she loved the children who shared her blood, and wanted him to know that, in spite of everything that had happened and everyone he had lost, he still had them and was entitled to share with them in good times as well as hard ones. Swallowing hard, he nodded.

"Oh," she said, stepping toward him, blinking repeatedly, "Come here." She enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug and, though he was grateful for the embrace, his chest was still incredibly sore and bruised where the second killing curse had hit him and where, presumably, the bit of Voldemort's soul had left him. He stiffened at the pain that shot through him, his breath hitching slightly against his will.

Mrs. Weasley, of course, noticed this at once and pulled away quickly. "Is something the matter, dear?" she asked, concerned.

"Er, no," Harry answered quickly, "I'm fine."

Mrs. Weasley looked thoroughly unconvinced. "You are a terrible liar, love," she said. Her tone wasn't overly accusatory, but Harry could tell from the look in her eyes that she had no intention of backing down without an answer.

With a defeated sigh, he checked to make sure they were still very much alone before hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt and pulling it down to reveal the unmistakable lightning-shaped scar amid the purplish skin around his heart. "It's, erm, still sore," he explained weakly. Mrs. Weasley just stared for a second, utterly beside herself. Harry couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes as he readjusted his shirt once more and stood awkwardly before her. "It's complicated," he mumbled when the growing question in her expression became too much to ignore.

She didn't ask for anything more than that, but instead whispered, "Oh, Harry," and stepped toward him once more. Harry thought she was going to hug him again, but instead she cupped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead in what was probably the most motherly act he had ever seen in his life. And then, she did hug him again, though she was much more gentle this time. "Oh, Harry," she murmured again, "I am so sorry."

"It's okay," he said, and as she let him go, he continued weakly, "I mean, I-I wouldn't have let him do it if there'd been another way, but… well it turned out alright anyway." It wasn't an excuse, really, and he didn't regret what he'd done, as it was easier asking forgiveness now than permission earlier, but he could tell from the way she looked at him that she didn't blame him. She recognized that the situation had been out of her control, much as she'd despised the fact, and that what had happened between Harry and Voldemort in the forest that night, though she didn't know the exact details at all, surpassed what she understood or even wanted to.

"Oh, my boy," Mrs. Weasley sighed, bringing her hand to the side of his face, "My brave, brave Harry." Suddenly she was hugging him a third time and murmuring tearfully, "It's over now. It's all over." And Harry welcomed her embrace easily this time, burying his face in the shoulder of this woman, who had become a surrogate mother for him all those years ago, and fighting again to reign in his emotions because her words, for whatever reason, rang truer than anyone else's had done yet.

He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that from her, how very surreal the idea of the war being done with had truly seemed for him. Even though he'd brought about Voldemort's defeat and seen him fall first hand, the fact that it was all over had still seemed like little more than a happy fantasy. He hadn't been able to wrap his mind around it and with everything else going on, had tried not to think about it. But only now did the crushing weight he'd carried around with him for years finally lift from his shoulders as Mrs. Weasley held him. He felt a part of him begin to heal.

It was over. It would take some time before things would start to truly resemble normalcy again, but they would all eventually get there. It was _all_ over, finally. They would all be okay. And for the first time, Harry found that he actually believed that.

It was over and, Mrs. Weasely had made it clear, he was where he belonged.

* * *

 **There are several moments during the books in which Harry opens up to Molly when she mothers and loves on him, like the time after the Third Task in the hospital wing, and I just picture something similar happening after the war.**

 **Thanks for reading and happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans!  
**


End file.
